The Truth is Quiet
by abletotry
Summary: Harry is tied to a chair in a dark room with no idea how he got there, or how hard he should be trying to escape. HPDM


**Notes - **Finally, a oneshot! I wrote this because I wanted to try a mystery, which I haven't otherwise done because it requires reasonable logic skills. It came out more as a romance, I would say. This was looked over briefly by a friend before it was published and I'm assured that there aren't any immediately glaring holes. So, on that note of confidence...

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry didn't remember falling asleep. When he woke up he didn't know where he was. His hands were bound tight enough to hurt and a chair dug into his back. The room was entirely black. He couldn't see anything except himself and only because he was lit up, sitting under a spotlight. It was cold but the chair was warm. He had been sitting here a while. How long? He didn't know.

He'd been working as an Auror for years. It wasn't the first time he'd been kidnapped. There were questions he had to answer, but even before he got to those he had to process the information his senses were picking up.

Sight. The room was black. His eyes couldn't adjust to it because of the light above him. It was too bright to look directly at, so he couldn't for more than a second. Harry looked down. He was wearing a t-shirt, no brand name, dark blue. A jacket over that. No brand name, brown, corduroy, embossed buttons. Open at the front. Dark jeans, his wand wasn't in his pocket. He couldn't see his feet.

They were his clothes. He wore them when he was out with friends or working in Muggle areas. No stains, no tears, no scratches. Either he'd been knocked out before he could put up a fight, or been dressed in these later.

A line of rope pressed into his chest. Manila, three strand twist. Very common, used in anything from fishing nets to bags. It looked new and unused. It only crossed him once. Whoever had tied it was confident he wouldn't be able to free himself.

He wasn't blindfolded, still wore his glasses. A considerate kidnapper or a gloating one? It was possible he was here to be tortured.

Touch. Even though he was warmly dressed, he could feel that the room was cold. His fingers felt numb but Harry guessed that had more to do with the rope binding his wrists. He ran his fingertips along it. Three strand twist, same as the rope at his chest. Was it one long piece? That would mean whoever had tied it had practice. He shifted his hands, checking for any give. Just that much hurt him enough to want to cry out. They were tight and he had no idea what the knots looked like.

The chair, then. It was wooden, slightly aged, but well-made. He pressed his feet against the floor and rocked. Not so much as a creak. He wouldn't be able to break it, but no one would hear him if he moved either. He could feel that he was wearing shoes and socks, even if he couldn't see them, and the floor was hard. Not carpeted. Possibly wood or concrete. There was no way to tell.

Taste. Running his tongue around his teeth Harry found nothing that shouldn't have been there. No powder, none of the slickness of a potion, nothing immediately telling.

Smell. Nothing but the soap he used. All that meant was that he hadn't been here longer than a day.

Hearing. Harry closed his eyes and focused intently. There was the faint drum of a machine, like a motor, maybe a generator? It could be what powered the spotlight. But better not to jump to conclusions. He could hear wind outside of the room. There was a window! The sound was clear enough that he thought it must be open. Why had the window been left open? He wasn't gagged. He could call for help. Were there silencing spells on the room? Had they counted on him not making a sound? Did they know he was awake right now, or had they thought that hours off?

So, what did he know. He was dressed in his casual clothes and still had his jacket on. He wasn't blindfolded or gagged but bound tightly to a chair by rope commonly used by Muggles. He had no memory of being assaulted, and if he had – which he wasn't even certain of – he hadn't put up a fight. The room was cold and a window was open. He wasn't injured at all. He didn't have his wand. In the minutes since he'd come to there had been no sign of his kidnapper.

Harry began to count silently. Aside from that he thought of nothing. It was useless to worry about what he couldn't change and better to wait until he had more information. Three minutes and thirty-six seconds later, a door opened behind him, letting no light into the room that he was able to see. He stopped counting.

The door was shut, carefully but not quietly. There was the faint sound of clothes rustling and then footsteps. A man's shoes. Far apart, which meant that he was tall. Not as loud as Harry would have expected from a thug. Slow, he wasn't familiar with the room. Purposeful, he knew what he was doing here. They came around until he was in front of Harry, hidden away in the darkness.

Half a minute passed. Harry tried to hear the man's breathing, but couldn't. He was neither unhealthy nor panicked. He didn't shift where he stood. He just stood there. Maybe he was staring at Harry. Maybe he was smiling. There was no way for him to know.

Then he chuckled, a low sound. It wasn't familiar. It would have been worrying if Harry _could_ recognise it. His hand pressed audibly against something. A table. There was furniture in the room. If the man could lean against it even in the dark, there was likely nothing on the table. Nothing for him to use to escape. That didn't mean he wouldn't check, later, when the man was gone.

"You're here."

His voice was low, even, a young man's. There was no inflection in the statement but Harry thought he sounded pleased.

Harry didn't say anything, just looked expressionlessly at where he knew the man to be. A sharp exhalation of breath. There was amusement and excitement in it. Neither of those things was ideal.

"Yes. I wonder how long you'll be here for."

Harry had no doubt that this was the person who had kidnapped him. He had almost certainly had help in it, but he would be here as long as the man wanted him to be, or as long as it took him to escape. The man was insane or just trying to confuse him.

Another minute passed. Harry could hear the man's watch ticking, it was so quiet. He shifted and sat down. There must be a chair next to the table. His fingers drummed against the table's surface impatiently. Was he waiting for something? His boss? The other Aurors?

He'd be sorely disappointed if that was the case. They were under orders not to look for Harry if he went missing. He could get himself out of bad situations and it was better that they weren't compromised. A week and they would start digging around. A month and Sturridge would take over his position. A year and they would declare him dead. Five years and he officially would be. Harry thought he'd been kidnapped enough for the word to get around.

Ticking, ticking, ticking and neither of them said a word. No one else came in. No phone calls, no communication with anyone, like all the man had to do today was sit there and watch Harry. For half an hour, an hour, more, all he did was sigh once and shift twice. Playing guard or playing psychopath. No magic. Nothing.

He considered trying to get information out of the man. But people were always happier to tell than answer. If he got bored enough he might start a conversation. They usually did. The long, dragged-out monologue with all the hows, wheres and whys. He just sat there. Got up, eventually, to close the window with a neat click. Now Harry couldn't even count on that.

There was a pressure building up in his lower body. He held out as long as he could before saying anything. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh? Want to wash your face?" the man asked cheerfully.

Harry scowled at him. "I need to go to the toilet," he amended.

"Well, yes. I can help you with that. Yes. Easy."

He walked around Harry and took off his glasses before blindfolding him from behind. The material was thick and black. It felt like it had been cut from a jumper. Store-bought and soft, not like any of the ones he owned. The strip was tied tightly, but not cruelly. He hadn't been hurt while he was being brought here, and he wasn't being hurt now, even slightly – he was precious, then, to someone who wasn't here yet.

One hand was unbound, quickly enough that Harry thought he was the one who had tied him up.

"Just remember that you are here, and I have the power to keep you here," the man said lightly. Something pressed into the side of Harry's head. It wasn't a wand. It was the barrel of a gun.

Harry didn't think the man would shoot him but he was careful all the same. Adrenaline rushed through his body. Even though wands were truthfully more dangerous, he had always reacted more strongly to guns. A remnant of his Muggle upbringing. He listened when the man told him to stand, hunched over with the chair on his back, and guided him over to another part of the room. There he fumbled with his zipper. When he was done, there was the sound of flushing and then the sound of running water. The man pulled at his arm so his hand was underneath the faucet. Harry washed his hand, confused. Hygiene wasn't usually a matter of concern amongst people who were holding you captive.

Soon he found himself sitting, both hands bound, his blindfold removed and glasses placed gently back onto his face. Even when his eyes adjusted he continued to blink.

"That was uncomfortable," he heard the man mutter. The gun was put away somewhere on his person. His pocket? His belt? His waistband?...this was getting Harry nowhere.

For the kidnapping of a noted wizard there was very little magic at work here. None that he'd seen so far. The light was bright, yeah, but Muggles made them powerful. The man had used a gun. Was he worried that Harry could combat his magic? Were they trying to confuse him? Trick him into revealing his magic to 'Muggles', so they could get him on the legal implications? Or had he just been walking around the wrong part of London?

Was this really just a Muggle kidnapping?

Harry didn't say a thing. Hours passed and finally the man left. He waited to be sure that he was gone and then shuffled over, carrying the chair on his aching back with the ropes biting painfully into his wrists, to the table. He felt out for it and when he was close enough, ran his face along its surface. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He checked the chair as well, noting that he could hardly see it, even away from the light. Then he explored the room a little.

There was a row of benches along a wall behind the table and chair. Like a kitchen, except there weren't any drawers and nothing useful on top of the benches. There was a fridge. It was switched off. He almost fell over trying to find a socket behind it. He couldn't get the door open either. There was no other furniture. The room was fourteen paces long and nine paces wide. There was a door at one end that he couldn't open. It was too awkward and seemed to be locked.

There was another door, closed but with a knob higher up on the door so he was able to get through. It led on to the bathroom. Nothing that he could find but the toilet and sink. The windows were near impossible to place, because he couldn't feel around for them with his hands. They were covered in black material. He tried to pull it down with his teeth but it was tightly secured on all sides. He couldn't even put his ear against the wall and try to look past it. It was like the material had been bolted on. But the man had closed a window earlier, so there had to be a trick.

Initial exploration done, Harry went back to the centre of the room. He sat back down under the spotlight. It was a heady relief. His back was aching and the ropes had actually torn the skin on his wrist because he had walked too far. He knew he was bleeding. He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing.

Counting.

More counting.

When the man came back into the room an hour later, he brought with him more rope. Harry let him tie his feet to chair without making it difficult. The man checked his wrists and wasn't happy with what he saw, judging by the way he grabbed his hair and pushed his head forward and then back again, roughly, skewing Harry's glasses.

"Don't do that again," he hissed.

Harry smirked, his hair a mess, his feet bound, his glasses half-on. He smirked at the man as he stepped away. A considerate kidnapper who showed concern and then thought he had to be violent just to make up for it. He wouldn't hurt Harry. He wouldn't even let him hurt himself.

"Please, share the joke," the man said, condescending and angry.

Harry laughed, a short choking sound. He leaned forward and his glasses fell to the ground. They wouldn't break. They never did. He grinned up at where he thought the man was. "What the fuck is going on here?"

There was silence. Then the man took out his gun and fired it. Harry was tied up and couldn't move. He just shut his eyes tightly and hoped the bullet wouldn't strike him. It didn't. But then there was the hard feeling of the gun pressed into Harry's head, hot from having just been fired. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the man had put his hand down on the arm of the chair, and it was under the light, but he couldn't turn his head to look at it fully.

"That's the question I want you to answer."

Harry could feel his breath on his ear as he said the words. His heart was beating quickly and he shivered despite himself. This was too close. The gun shouldn't be here. It was out of place, it frightened him. He was an Auror. They weren't meant to be afraid. And if it weren't for the gun, he wouldn't be afraid of this man, the one who had made him wash his hands after he pissed and then had a fit because he'd scratched himself a little.

The gun went away. The man went to the bathroom and there was the sound of water running. When he came back he pressed something onto Harry's wrists. The door opened and a voice came through it.

"Just knock him out." A man's. Familiar.

Then there was a hand at Harry's mouth and his face relaxed and his head fell back and his eyelids felt heavy and closed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

His wrists were bandaged while he was unconscious. Not healed. Still no magic at play. They were padded so that in places he could hardly feel the rope. He hadn't thought he'd hurt the skin badly enough for that. But then he realised that if they cared enough to bandage him, they didn't want him hurting himself any more than he had already. It was protecting his skin from the rope.

As Harry shook off the effects of the drug, he noticed that everything looked the same as it had before. Black with the light above him. His glasses were back on his face. His feet were still bound, and not padded either. They didn't expect him to move again.

There was the ticking of the man's watch. Until he shifted Harry wouldn't know where in the room he was. And he didn't shift, not for a long time. Minutes to hours. Long enough for Harry to sober up and think about what had happened. There were at least two people involved. Either the second had been listening outside, or they were being surveilled. He hadn't thought about that possibility. Cameras would be near useless. He and the man spoke so rarely that listening devices would be about as helpful. This seemed like an organised, Muggle crime. But there were too many things strange about it that Harry couldn't rule out the possibility that wizards were behind it all.

The man left the room and came back minutes later. A small metal table was placed next to Harry. It reminded him of the one Hermione's dad, who worked as a dentist, had used when she'd persuaded Harry to get his teeth checked. A cup of water and a plate of food were set on top of it. Roast beef with mashed potato and peas. While Harry was staring at it, the man moved to stand beside him, leaning forward to put a spoon down and cut a small piece of meat. His hands looked white in the light and he didn't have any calluses. Harry could see only a part of his forearm and that was it.

When he brought the fork towards Harry's mouth he shut it tightly and turned his head away. The fork was lowered and Harry eyed it suspiciously. "Is it poisoned?"

The man made a noise of frustration. "Why would it be poisoned?"

"Just tell me that it's not."

"No, it's not poisoned. Now eat."

Harry accepted the fork this time, but chewed slowly, prepared to spit it out if he tasted anything strange. It was good. Very good. If only he cooked like that for himself at home, rather than the unmemorable stuff he ate. Honestly Harry was so hungry they could have fed him absolute rubbish – and he was surprised that they hadn't. He swallowed and was fed again. The spoon was used for the peas and was accompanied by a fair bit of swearing on the man's part. Every few mouthfuls he was made to drink some water. He hadn't realised how thirsty he was, but whenever the cup was empty the man just went away and filled it again, and on the meal went.

When it was over the table was taken away. The man came back and sat down in his chair. Harry stared at where he thought he was and wondered why he felt grateful to him for his full stomach. Of course he needed to be fed, if they were keeping him alive, and needed to be fed well, if they were keeping him healthy. He was probably just doing what he was told. Not to mention that yesterday he'd shot at him. But Harry found, to his dismay, that he was already used to the man's company. It was like the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome.

"What are you thinking about?" the man asked, curious.

"You."

The man was silent and Harry figured he'd surprised him. Just as well! He didn't want to be the only one getting caught out.

"Ah. Am I interesting?"

"Strange."

"In a good way?"

Harry took a moment to think about that. "I'm not sure."

"Hmm." The man shifted in his chair. "Are your wrists hurting?"

"No. Does it matter?" How much concern was he going to show him, while still keeping him tied up against his will? This whole situation was ridiculous.

Captivity was grating. He wanted to make the man take his watch off and then shoot at it. Ticking, ticking, ticking, stupid! He wanted things to happen. He was an Auror. He wanted a chance to escape, or a window to be opened, or the other man to guard him, or things to get worse because he could deal with worse and he thought it would damn well be more exciting than this.

The man didn't say anything. If Harry's feet hadn't been bound he would have kicked at him.

As it was he kept counting. Later he went to the bathroom again with the man's help. Hours passed. He began to feel tired. Then there was another meal, a chicken sandwich and sliced apple. After that he began to doze. When the man returned and sat down, he fell asleep.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The next day was much the same. He counted seconds and minutes and hours, with the ticking of the man's watch to tell him whenever he slowed or sped up. When the man left he tried to ease the chair over to the window, but it took far too long to get even a metre away from the light and with his feet bound there wasn't much he could do anyway. So Harry stayed where he was.

The next time he went to the bathroom the man didn't hold him at gunpoint. When they were through the doorway Harry put all of his energy into a sudden turn, and he pressed the man against the wall, with the intention of trying to find where on him he kept the gun. But his body failed him. He had time only to discover that the man smelled like orchids before he became dizzy, likely having asked too much of his body when it hadn't moved, not properly, in so long.

Harry fell to the ground, the chair pushing into his back enough for him to shout with pain. Falling was so much worse when you couldn't see what was around you. It was just a sudden impact, like the chair had become as frustrated with him as he was with it. There were stabs of pain in his arm and back. After a moment the man helped him up and then held the gun to his head. He used the toilet and was sat down again. And then it was ticking, ticking, but he also hurt like hell.

After the next meal, as the man put the cutlery down, Harry noticed that his hands were shaking. "Did you enjoy the food?"

Harry turned his head as much as he could but the man was still shrouded in darkness. "It was fine."

The table clattered and the fork rolled over. "Nothing?" the man said.

Harry didn't know what he was talking about.

"Nothing? You're really not seeing it at all? Why can't you just-" he broke off. His voice was shaking the way his hands had. Frightened, no. Angry, no. Desperate. "Can't you ask a few questions? Can't you even do that?"

Harry couldn't make him out. But he wanted to. He wanted to know what this was about. The man, all of it. "Why am I here?" he asked.

The man breathed out in relief. "That's what you need-"

A long, loud siren interrupted him. It was low and constant, like a foghorn.

"Shit!" The man fumbled with the table, putting it down out of Harry's reach and going quickly to the door. In the moment before it shut Harry could hear shouting.

It seemed to be an alarm. Was there a fire? No, he'd never heard a fire alarm like that and the man wouldn't have left him here if it would put him in danger. Was the building being attacked? Who would want to attack it? Everyone close to him knew better than to try to break him out. It had only been three days by his estimation. Unless maybe it _was_ Muggles that had kidnapped him and the Aurors thought the rule didn't apply. Maybe it was a gang operation and rivals had broken in. It would explain why the man had a gun.

There were a tense few minutes of silence. He couldn't hear anything that was going on outside the room. When the man returned he felt like his heart was going to explode.

"You're okay," he said, relieved.

"Were you worried?"

Harry ignored the question. "What was that?"

"It was nothing."

"You were-"

"Nothing."

He wasn't going to give Harry any information. So they were back to ticking, ticking and shifting around and even though he had eaten Harry felt dizzy and then he was tired, so tired and he could hardly keep his head up to glare at the man who was hiding things from him that he knew were important, and then it was time to eat again and Harry wondered if the food was drugged because it made him feel even more exhausted, and the light was a bit too bright so he had to close his eyes and then he felt himself pulled into sleep.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

When he woke up it was the same, but it was different, because Harry knew he had been ignoring information. Inexplicably trusting the man wasn't reason enough to become complacent. In this situation he couldn't 'get used' to things. He needed to be alert, aware, keeping track. It had been a mistake to let his guard down because the man hadn't shot at him again.

Sight. Light and black. Touch. He was bound tightly and his wrists were padded. Taste. Only the unpleasantness of not having brushed his teeth for days. Smell. His clothing hadn't been changed or washed. Hearing. The drone of the machine and now the buzz of a light that had been on too long. Wind battering the windows. The ticking of the man's watch and the sound of his breathing, which he'd only begun to notice on the second day and was gentle and even.

The first day he had been drugged to sleep so that they could bandage his wrists. He had been shot at and the man had leaned on his chair with his left arm, Harry remembered. That meant that he was right-handed. He had learned that there was more than one man, the other had _a familiar voice _and the room might be under surveillance. How had he forgotten about that? That was important. He didn't speak to Muggles often enough to know what they sounded like – except for Mr Granger and the voice hadn't been his. _That meant there was a wizard involved._

The second day he had eaten for the first time. The man had fed him. Was there anything important in that? No, it was just convenient. He had fallen asleep without being drugged. Harry could remember feeling tired and not sleeping until the man had come back into the room. The realisation horrified him. He'd come to trust the man so early, so quickly after he had shot at and drugged him? How could he be that stupid?

The third day he had tried to find the gun. The man smelled like orchids. Like...

Harry felt dizzy thinking about it.

His eyes widened. The dizziness. He had been so dizzy that he'd actually fallen over. He'd felt it since then. Was it the effect of a drug? He hadn't tasted anything in the food and hadn't noticed any effects other than the dizziness. It didn't seem likely. The feeling was like the one he got when he took out a memory to store in a Pensieve. But that faded when the memory was gone, this was constant. What did that mean?

The third day the man had been upset, told him to ask questions, but when Harry had asked him one the siren had gone off. It had seemed like an alarm but the man had come back without any injuries. He hadn't been anything other than what he was normally – calm and annoyingly quiet. But what...with that timing, what if it hadn't been an alarm, but a warning? A warning not to tell Harry anything important, about where he was and why.

If his hands had been free, he would have buried his face in them.

Stupid, stupid! How could he have missed it? When it was so obvious!

This was a training exercise.

He'd been through them before. Not quite like this, no. Put in an abandoned house with another Auror and told to fight off an impending attack. Dosed up with Veritaserum and interrogated for hours. The difference between then and now was that he _hadn't known_ that this was a training exercise. They'd hit him with an _Obliviate_ or something, taken away his memories of everything leading up to it. It made so much sense.

That was why there were no signs of struggle. That was why it was dark in here. The _room _didn't matter; it was the situation that was important. That was why they were taking care of his wounds and feeding him well – no reason to actually _harm_ him, they just wanted him to work it out. That was why he'd recognised the man's voice. They probably worked together, had known each other ten years and went out for drinks once a week. Fuck! That was why the siren had gone off, to stop the man from helping him.

That was why he had a Muggle gun and no one had used any magic. To confuse. To present a situation that was familiar but nothing like what Harry had dealt with before. So he would have to think. He would be forced to. There was nothing else to do here except count and listen to that fucking ticking.

"Throw your bloody watch out the window!" Harry shouted.

The man startled but otherwise didn't move. "Why?"

"I've worked it out. This is a training exercise. Now get rid of it!"

The man stood and walked over to Harry. He expected to be freed from the rope, but instead the watch was placed on his shoulder. The ticking was loud and torturous.

"You haven't worked it out. Not all of it. So enjoy this until you do," he said coldly and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

_Tick, tick, tick._

Much more of this and he'd go mad. Think, quickly! There was something he was missing. To do with the dizziness, it was the only thing this being a training exercise didn't account for. It had happened first when he'd leaned against the man. He smelled like orchids, yes, what of it? Harry was feeling dizzy again but he pushed past it. It had something to do with the man.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick._

What did he know about the man? He was right-handed. He had pale skin, or at least it had looked that way in the light. No calluses on his hands. Before that, what had Harry noticed? He was tall. He didn't usually slam doors. He was young. He knew how to fire a gun – no, that didn't mean anything, he could have learned for this. He liked to ask questions. Harry trusted him, even when he did things that should have broken that trust. When Harry had hurt himself he had tried to clean his wrists around the rope, before getting told to drug him. He had been upset by Harry's lack of progress and tried to help him. The shouting he'd heard was probably one of the people monitoring the exercise.

_Tick, tick, tick._

So they knew each other personally. Harry had to work out who the man was and then the exercise would be over. The watch could be smashed to pieces and thrown into the sea.

_Tick, tick, tick._

He looked at the watch. It had a thin, brown leather strap and the buckle was gold. Too simple to be made by wizards. It could have been a prop, given to the man along with the gun. The strap was new but the area around the crown was dulled. There was a scratch on the surface of the glass. Harry noticed that the second hand would stop at the number five for a few seconds, flickering before continuing on. It wasn't even accurate! Why did he wear the damn thing?

_Tick, tick, tick, tick._

Because it was sentimental. Because someone he cared about had given it to him.

_Tick, tick, tick._

Because Harry had given it to him.

He had trusted the man without even knowing who he was. He had felt comfortable around him. He had waited for the man to be in the room before he would let himself fall asleep. He hadn't thought anything about him feeding him. The man had become frustrated because Harry didn't remember him. He had slammed the door just now because he was angry that Harry didn't remember him. He, who was so important.

_Tick, tick...tick..._

It was as though the sound slowed and stopped.

"WE'RE LOVERS!" Harry shouted, as loud as he could, so wherever the man had gone he could hear him.

Light flooded the room. He closed his eyes and opened them again, allowing them to adjust. The door opened behind him and people clattered in, more people than he had expected to be involved in something like this. The rope was undone and he was encouraged to move his arms, slowly, so the blood could circulate back into them. A healer checked him over and declared that, aside from some bruising and the damage done to his wrists, there was nothing wrong with him.

Sloper handed him a water bottle and then took it back when he wasn't able to hold it. Someone clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. The rope fell away from his chest and his feet were freed. When he was able to, they helped him to stand. Harry noticed as he did that there was a bullet in the floor half a metre in front of him. Unless the man was a Muggle-born and had used a gun before, that seemed close. Harry hoped their relationship was a good one.

He put the watch in his pocket and glanced around him, trying to find the man. When he asked for his wand it was handed to him and he held on to it tightly. Rosier and Gudgeon were asking him questions and writing down his answers with quills on parchment. Are you feeling alright? Do you have any immediate complaints? Will you need time off to recover? Could this exercise be in any way changed?

They stopped when Harry was punched in the side of the face.

He stumbled a little, but people were there to keep him from falling. A hand to his jaw, he looked at the person who had done it.

The man was beautiful. There wasn't any other word for it. His hair was pale blonde and he wanted to touch it to feel if it was as soft as it looked. His skin _was_ pale, it hadn't been a trick of the light, he was so pale he was luminous. His eyes were a striking grey, almost silver. He was angry, fiercely angry. Harry wondered again if their relationship was one he might be safer not remembering.

"Four fucking days!" he hissed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said pre-emptively.

"Were you even _thinking?_ I cooked all of your food, you bastard. Did you even notice that? Where did five years go after a memory charm? Even now, you have no idea who I am, do you. You can look straight at me and not know who I am. I had to _tell you_ to _think harder_ because you weren't going to do it yourself!"

"I'm really-"

"No. Four days. We were sitting in the same room for four days and what do you say to me at the end of it? _'Throw that watch out the window.'_ Do you even understand what-"

"I do! Stop yelling, alright? We're not the only ones here."

Everyone was watching them silently. Most people looked uncomfortable, but a few were quite interested in their argument, including Rosier and Gudgeon who appeared to be taking notes.

"'_Throw it out the window'_. What was that? Do you want me to? I'll do it right now-"

"No!" Harry surprised himself with how strongly he said the word. "Calm down! Shit! I missed you, didn't I?"

The man faltered. "You what?"

"I missed you! When you weren't here, I kept waiting for you to come back. I couldn't sleep unless you were sitting there. Imagine how I tried to justify that to myself. Stockholm Syndrome! Falling in love with a kidnapper!"

God, he was going to be paying for this at work. But at least the man's expression had softened. "You're a git."

"You shot at me," Harry said stubbornly.

The man stepped over to him and threw his arms around his neck – funny, considering that he was taller – and kissed him. Harry's eyes widened. He couldn't remember ever having kissed a man before. It was nice. Well, it would have been strange if it wasn't. He didn't know quite what to do with his hands and they were sort of suspended in the air behind the man's back.

When the man pulled away Harry was sure to smile at him, despite feeling totally bewildered. The man put his hand into his pocket and took out the watch. Rather than smiling at Harry, he smiled down at it and stepped back. "You're making this up to me."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I owe you one. Thanks for the..."

He trailed off as the man walked away.

"Yeah. Right. Sloper, can I have that water now? Who's taking this memory charm off me? I want it done now. I don't think I know where I live."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Even after a much-needed shower Harry's head still hurt. He put on some pants and collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blankets up over him as an afterthought. It was comfortable and familiar. Their whole house smelled like orchids, except for the bed. Draco must have been sleeping here a few hours every day. He'd probably sprayed the place with his cologne just to spite Harry. He liked the scent but there was such a thing as _too much_. He wanted to leave an impression on their home as well, so that Draco could notice when he wasn't here.

Harry pulled at a pillow and pressed his face to it. After sitting down for days, or standing awkwardly, it felt so good just to lie down. He was tired and had a headache thanks to the process that had restored his memories. He would feel better after he slept. And then Draco might be home and he could apologise properly. Yes, that would be good...

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He woke up to see lines of sunlight across the ceiling, across books on bookshelves, the blankets and the warmly carpeted floor. Harry thought he'd never appreciated it so much. The familiarity of home, where he could relax and didn't have to worry about people trying to put him in St Mungo's. He knew every inch of it and still would in complete darkness.

The bruise he'd gotten on his back from falling onto the chair had been healed, along with everything else than was less than normal. He sat up and touched it to be sure. He glanced at his wrists and moved the blankets to look at his feet. Exactly as they had been before the exercise. Probably even better. He got out of bed, put his glasses on, slipped on a shirt and went out into the kitchen.

He put the kettle on and rubbed at his eye, yawning faintly. Then he took a cup out from the cupboard and fought with the jar they kept their teabags in. The lid locked when he wasn't home. Draco only drank loose-leaf so he didn't use it. The kettle clicked and he filled the mug. Putting one hand on the counter, Harry watched the black coils of the tea in the water and waited for it to be dark enough to take the bag out.

"Are you actually any good at your job?"

Harry turned his head to see Draco lying on the couch, propped up with some cushions and with a book resting on his chest.

"Oh. Hello." and he began to make some toast.

"Because they tell me that you are. But it takes you four days to do something I thought you would in half the time, and when you walked into the room you didn't even notice me here. I'm not hidden, just quiet."

"Mm." Harry took the teabag out and put it in the bin.

"I could have been one of your enemies waiting here for you. You could have died before you saw me."

With his cup of tea in one hand and toast in the other, Harry went over to Draco and sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the couch. The tea was good if a bit too hot. He drank it slowly. There was the gentle touch of Draco's fingers in his hair. When the toast was gone Harry put the cup down on the coffee table and turned to look at his lover. He reached up and took Draco's hand. It was warm and soft. He loved this man so much.

For a moment they gazed at each other. Then Harry pushed up on the couch with his elbows so that he could be closer to him. "I haven't brushed my teeth," he told him.

Draco laughed a little and brushed his other hand along Harry's shoulder and neck. They kissed, lightly at first and then it was more. His lips were soft. Harry's were rougher and he wished he had thought to brush his teeth. It didn't matter, not really, but he didn't want anything to distract them from each other when they were close. The kiss tasted of tea and marmalade.

Their tongues met and Draco's hand pushed at his neck lightly, asking him to move closer. Harry did and their chests touched. He could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. He ran his fingers along his jaw and Draco leaned into them, his hand winding up in Harry's hair. He looked at Harry with half-closed eyes and there was the glimmer of arousal in them.

Harry broke off the kiss and pressed more fully against him, running one hand down his side and gripping his waist. He kissed Draco's jaw and underneath his chin, and Draco threw his head back, breathing fast. When he grazed his collarbone with his teeth Draco moaned and the sound of it excited Harry. Four days felt so long. He hadn't even known what he was missing.

Draco sat up and kissed Harry hard. It was a promise of what was to come and told him to settle down. They didn't need to talk but they were going to. Harry kissed him back, moving to sit on the edge of the couch. They parted and kissed again and then once more. Harry smiled at Draco with love and lust that he didn't bother to hide.

"I missed...this," Draco said honestly. "I can't believe you didn't recognise me. You didn't know me."

Harry took his hand and held it.

"What if someone took you away from me? A memory charm and you'd never come back. That was what I thought. I know I said I would be fine with this, I know I did..."

When they'd agreed to do the training exercise, Harry had known Draco was worried. But that was what he did, worried about what Harry did at work and hid it behind scathing remarks and faked insensitivity. He constantly needed reassurance that things were going to be alright. When they were together it was fine, but Draco couldn't be left on his own. It was harder for him to trust. That was just the way he was.

"I love you. Don't ever question that. Even when I didn't know who you were, I loved you. Whatever happens, I will love you. Wherever I go I will always come back to you."

It sounded cheesy, but it was true.

Draco put his arms around Harry and hugged him. Harry smiled into his shoulder. He hadn't put on his cologne today, he realised. Rather than smelling like orchids he just smelled like him. He kissed his shoulder and the exposed skin of his neck and under his ear.

"You need a shower."

"Yes, sir!" Harry kissed him on the cheek and stood up, heading off to the bathroom. It was so good to be home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Come on, mate. Just tell me what it was about."

Harry looked over the report that Ron had just turned in. There had been a number of disappearances in Albania and he had been sent to investigate, along with Ackerley, an Auror-in-training. Ackerley had disappeared from the inn where they were staying only to turn up three days later on a local farm. Apparently an elderly witch was convinced there were centaurs nearby and had been attempting to summon them. It was a good question whether to turn it over to the Misuse of Magic Division or the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Either way, it wasn't serious enough for his department.

By the sounds of it the witch needed to be educated about centaurs and an investigation needed to be done to find if there was a herd settled in the area. Magical Creatures it was, then. Harry opened a drawer, chose one of the dozens of stamps and pressed it down on the parchment. Then he slipped it into the tray marked 'out' and it shortly vanished.

"I can't tell you, Ron. I'm sorry."

"Not even a hint? They're being really mysterious about everything. Hermione's looking stressed – she's got it hard enough with Rose teething – and when I ask her about it she won't say anything. Come on. What's this training exercise about?"

Harry smiled at his friend, feeling a little sorry for him.

"Oh, don't look like that! I'm worried now."

"Look, they'll talk to you about it. Just give Sturridge some time to catch up with himself." He put the lid back on an inkpot and stood up. "Do you want to get some lunch? I've got an hour before the meeting with Kingsley."

"Yeah, that'd be good." Ron grinned at him.

Walking around the desk, Harry took his coat off the wall and they went out of the office together. As usual, the Ministry was organised chaos. Sheets of newspaper flew over their heads and people barrelled past them. It was quieter in the lift, deceptively peaceful before it would hurtle violently down to the Atrium. Ron gripped onto one of the golden ropes hanging from the ceiling and spoke again to Harry.

"So you're really not going to tell me what the training exercise is about?"

Harry gave him a wry smile. "You'll have to figure it out on your own."

The doors closed and they were on their way.


End file.
